


High Flight

by LadyMyfanwy



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:54:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22099822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMyfanwy/pseuds/LadyMyfanwy
Summary: A ghost from Jack's past arrives prompting memories both good and bad.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	High Flight

**Author's Note:**

> After reading this, go to www. youtube.com /watch?v=8qqVRBZO5gc (no spaces) and let this video touch your heart. If you want to learn more detail about the brave young man who wrote High Flight, go to https://en. wikipedia.org/wiki/ John_Gillespie_Magee_Jr. (no spaces).

High Flight

Humming softly to himself, Ianto turned out the kitchen lights, paused long enough to look around the Hub making sure that everything had been set in night-mode, and then carried his small tray up the stairs to Jack’s office. It was one of his favourite times of the day, when the rest of the team had gone home, the Hub was in semi-darkness with just the faint hum from Toshiko’s computers and the soft rustle of Myfanwy in her aerie to fill the quiet. He and Jack would enjoy a cup of coffee together, nibble on a few biscuits, and generally unwind before going down to Jack’s small bedroom. 

Balancing the tray on one hand, Ianto quietly opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him with a tiny snick before automatically turning the key in the lock. They’d learned long ago that a closed door didn’t meant a thing where privacy was concerned; somehow Gwen Cooper always knew when they were enjoying some private time together and managed to ‘accidentally’ barge in on them. 

Ianto glanced up at Jack just in time to see the man turn off his computer monitor and surreptitiously wipe his eyes before smiling at him.

“You always know the perfect time to bring me a coffee, Yan. Thank you.”

“Well, you know me,” Ianto set the tray down and perched on the corner of the desk, his leg pressed against Jack’s. “I know everything.”

Jack smiled at him over the rim of his coffee mug. “Yes, you do, you clever Welshman you.”

“What was on the computer that upset you, Cariad?” Ianto’s voice was soft.

“Nothing,” Jack fibbed quite unconvincingly. “I’m not upset.”

Ianto waited, sipping his coffee, saying nothing but his eyes spoke volumes.

Jack’s eyes flicked to the dark monitor and then back to Ianto, trying to think of something to say. Finally he sighed. “I got an email from a friend of mine.”

Ianto continued to wait patiently, knowing there was more.

“He sent me an obituary.” Jack slumped in his chair.

“I’m sorry, Jack. Was it someone you were close to?”

Shaking his head, Jack felt the tears well up again. “There was a man…” He stopped and then started again. “Do you remember the NASA Challenger space shuttle disaster?”

“I was only about two years old, but we did learn about it in history class.”

“Remember the speech President Reagan gave a few weeks later?” Jack asked. “The last line about slipping the surly bonds of earth and touching the face of God?”

Ianto nodded. “I do actually, we listened to a recording of his speech in class. I remember it was really quite stirring.”

“Those words are from a poem called ‘High Flight’, written in 1941 by John Gillespie Magee, Jr. He was a pilot in the Royal Canadian Air Force who’d been sent to the UK after getting his wings. He actually started out his flying career here in Wales, at RAF Llandow. It’s gone now, closed about fifty years ago.”

“My grandfather was stationed there. It was only about fifteen miles from Cardiff, so he was able to go home and visit his parents whenever he could.”

“Anyway,” Jack sipped his coffee. “After that Magee ended up being posted to an RCAF squadron at RAF Digby up near the North Sea coastline. We learned to fly the Spitfires together but we were then assigned to different squadrons. He was part of a bomber escort that flew over Occupied France to attack railway workstations at Lille. They were intercepted by Luftwaffe fighter aircraft and of his four-plane section he was the sole survivor.”

Ianto frowned. “He was a very lucky man.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you,” Jack sighed. “Just a month later he died in a training accident.”

“That’s awful, Cariad! What happened?”

“He and three other pilots were practising evasive manoeuvres and they were performing a high speed descent when he came through a break in the cloud cover and collided with another plane.” Jack’s voice had become matter-of-fact, as though he were reading a Wikipedia entry. “There was no way the accident could have been avoided.”

“Oh, Jack…”

“There was a farmer who witnessed it, he said that he could see Magee struggling…” Jack’s voice broke and he didn’t even try to stop the tears that began to slide down his cheeks. 

Ianto stood up and wrapped his arms around Jack, hugging him tightly, murmuring soft words of comfort in his ear.

Finally, Jack sat up and smiled at Ianto as he resumed his perch on the desk. “Thank you, Yan.”

“Anytime, anywhere, Cariad.”

After a gulp of coffee, Jack nodded. “By the time he got the canopy of his Spitfire pushed back and jumped out it was too late for his parachute to open and he died on impact.”

“Oh Annwyl Dduw, na!” Ianto gasped in absolute horror. 

“He was in his tenth week of active duty.” Jack shook his head in sorrow. “Only nineteen years old, such a waste of a young life.”

“I am so sorry, Jack.” Ianto’s heart felt like lead in his chest as he imagined John Magee’s last few moments of life, struggling desperately to free himself from the doomed aircraft only to discover that he’d succeeded just seconds too late.

“Magee wrote ‘High Flight’ just a few months before he died. On his seventh flight he flew his Spitfire up to 33,000 feet and he said he was inspired by the words ‘To touch the face of God’ which he’d once read in another poem. He composed his poem while in the air and finished it when he landed.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever read it.”

Jack only hesitated for a second before turning his monitor back on and cueing up the video attachment from his email. Within seconds Ianto was mesmerised by the images that slowly moved across the screen, still shots of the sky, endless expanses of blue, some with clouds, some with other aircraft, all taken from the cockpits of planes in flight, interspersed with the words of Magee’s poem, but it was the music that played in the background that truly touched his soul. When the video ended, Ianto waited anxiously, hoping that whoever had made the video had included a credit for the music and he wasn’t disappointed.

“Return/Reunion by Basil Poledouris…” he murmured to himself, committing the name to memory, determined to find out more as soon as he got back to his computer. “Jack, that is truly beautiful. Who sent it to you?”

“During Magee’s service, which was held at the Scopwick Cemetery there near Digby Aerodrome, his coffin was carried by his fellow pilots, men from his squadron. Time being what it is, they’ve slowly passed away themselves,” Jack’s shoulders slumped and tears filled his eyes. “The last man from that squadron just died a few days ago. A friend of mine sent me the obituary.”

“Oh, Cariad, I am so sorry.” Ianto took Jack’s hand in his.

Jack shrugged. “It happens.”

He tried to be nonchalant as he spoke but Ianto knew better. Every time he outlived an old friend, especially someone he knew during the war, it affected Jack deeply. Ianto had figured out that part of it was simply the loss of a friend, but part of it too was survivor’s guilt. Even though he knew perfectly well why he was immortal, there was still a part of Jack’s heart, mind and soul which just could not figure out why he should be the one to go on, to live forever, when others far more deserving didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t, won’t.

“Things happen every day, that doesn’t make it any easier.” Know that words were of little comfort, Ianto wrapped Jack in his arms again, wishing there was some way he could offer more.

Content to stay in the safe circle of his lover’s arms, Jack relaxed a bit. “The man lived a very long and happy life; he went on to father three generations of fighter pilots and the man who sent the obituary is actually his great-grandson. He started out with the RAF and now he’s part of UNIT’s space program.”

Ianto pulled back a bit and looked at Jack, not sure if he was telling the truth or not. “The only space program in Britain is the United Kingdom Space Agency, Jack, although we are also a part of the European Space Agency. UNIT is not part of either one.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr-I-Know-Everything-Jones.” Jack’s eyes twinkled. “I know for a fact that UNIT is working on reverse-engineering a ship they found some thirty years ago off the Orkney Islands archipelago.”

“You’re kidding!”

Jack shook his head. “It’s all a very hush-hush, completely off-the-books, sworn-to-secrecy on point-of-death kind of thing.” 

“Tosh would go nuts if she knew!”

“Wouldn’t she though?” Jack chuckled. “She’d probably want to start one here!”

“Can you imagine Owen as an astronaut? Out in space?” 

“Remember him out in the country?” Jack wrinkled his nose dramatically. “What is that smell?” he mimicked the team’s medic.

“Since he’d most likely be wearing a helmet, I’d say it was either his own bad breath or the pizza and beer burp he’d enjoyed a moment before.”

Jack stared at the Welshman and then he burst out laughing, the sound genuine for the first few seconds but quickly becoming loud and forced, leading Ianto to gather the immortal into his arms again.

“It’s all right, Cariad,” he soothed, gently rocking the older man, feeling his shoulders shaking as he wept into the Welshman’s shoulder. “I’m here.”

It Jack several minutes to regain his composure and he accepted Ianto’s neatly pressed handkerchief with an embarrassed sniffle. “Thank you,” and he blew his nose wetly and loudly in the pristine linen square. “Sorry about that,” he grimaced as he realised how yucky it had become. “I’ll ummm…” He looked around for a place to put it, knowing that Ianto was not going to put it back in his pocket.

Ianto considered for a moment and then hooked the wastepaper bin with his foot, pulling it around the corner of the desk. “Don’t worry about it; I’ve got others, Cariad.”

“You are a true friend, Yan,” Jack smiled gratefully. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“Tell you what,” Ianto stood up and pulled Jack to his feet as well. “Why don’t you go downstairs and wash your face and I’ll be with you in a few minutes, okay?” When Jack had disappeared into his underground bunker, Ianto did a quick computer search, jotted down a few notes and then shut everything down, turned off the lights and went down the ladder as well.

Finding Jack just sitting on the side of the bed, Ianto kissed the top of his head, then knelt and unlaced the man’s boots, removing them and his socks before standing and bringing Jack to his feet. Thanks to tons of practice, he made swift work of the man’s braces and belt before unzipping his trousers, pulling them and his pants to the floor where Jack stepped out of them. A few buttons later and Ianto removed Jack’s light blue shirt and his vest, tossing all the clothing into the waiting laundry basket at the foot of the bed.

Reaching behind him, Ianto pulled the duvet back and settled Jack on the pillow before stripping quickly and slipping into bed behind the older man, spooning him, one arm across Jack’s chest, the palm of his hand seeking out the steady beat of Jack’s heart.

“What would you think of driving up to Digby to the Scopwick Cemetery tomorrow and paying your respects to Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee Jr?” Ianto’s voice was soft, his breath warm against Jack’s neck.

“Really?”

“I’ve checked the Rift predictor program, there’s nothing expected for a few days, and it would only take us about four hours to drive each way.” Ianto gently stroked Jack’s chest. 

“You’d go with me?”

“I would be honoured, Jack.”

(*****)

In keeping with the sombre atmosphere of their surroundings, grey clouds heavy with the promise of rain hung low in the sky as Jack and Ianto stood before John Magee’s gravestone. After a few moments, Ianto put his hand on Jack’s shoulder and then stepped away, leaving the immortal with his thoughts.

Jack barely noticed him leaving, so caught up in his memories from so many decades ago. Finally, with a deep heartfelt sigh, Jack reached into the pocket of his great coat and removed a small leather presentation case, opened it and placed it reverently atop the simple grave marker, then he stood to attention and snapped a salute. 

“Rest in peace, my old friend,” he whispered. “You will never be forgotten.” Then he turned and walked away, joining Ianto as they returned to the Audi.

Neither man noticed the single ray of brilliant sunshine that suddenly burst through the clouds to land directly on the contents of the leather case, making the Victoria Cross, personally presented to Captain Jack Harkness by King George VI for Valour in the Presence of the Enemy, shine like a beacon to the heavens.

End

(*****)

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth  
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;  
Sunward I’ve climbed and joined the tumbling mirth   
of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things 

You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung   
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,   
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung   
My eager craft through footless halls of air...

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue  
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace.  
Where never lark, or even eagle flew —

And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod  
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,  
– Put out my hand, and touched the face of God. 

John Gillespie Magee Jr


End file.
